


Don't Stop 'Cause I'm Halfway There

by Lady_Ganesh



Series: What You Waiting For? [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Friends With Benefits, Hockey, M/M, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: Kent and Kimmie go to Skate America.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Kent "Parse" Parson
Series: What You Waiting For? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849915
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Don't Stop 'Cause I'm Halfway There

**Author's Note:**

> Just like Chris, I can't get enough.
> 
> There's some handwaving here of both the skating and hockey season. Also French. Like the previous crossover I wrote, things are not as homophobic as the real-life setting of Check Please! but more homophobic than Yuri!!! on Ice. Also Kent has two sisters in this fic but there's no tag for that.

Kent spent most of the summer not doing much beyond hockey. He had the time, he had the money. He went to practice and ate what he was supposed to. He went swimming; he hung out with the guys some. He didn't go to bars. 

He started going to a yoga class, which was fun. He flirted in a good-natured way with the stay-at-home parents and the retirees, and learned to be a little more flexible. There was only so much he could do with the muscle mass he had to keep on— _What do you do, box?_ one of the women had asked early on, and Ed, who was probably eighty-five, said _hockey—_ but it was still a new kind of challenge. Got him out of his head a little.

He watched some figure skating, exhibitions and shit on YouTube, and told himself he wasn't keeping up with Chris, even though he was. They traded some texts back and forth, nothing heavy, mostly pictures of their cats. He thought about coming out, for the first time since he was a kid and he'd thought he and Jack would do it together (Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse, first out guys in the NHL, first _couple_ in the NHL, because back when he was young and stupid he'd thought there wasn't anything they couldn't do, as long as they had each other's backs). 

He knew Swoops knew, or at least had a damn good idea, and from Kimmie's talk about the Hero of Kazakhstan, who wasn't _out_ out but sure as fuck didn't seem to be _in,_ he figured he'd be all right there. Scraps loved him. Carly said dumb shit, but he liked Kent, and maybe he'd say different dumb shit if he knew. 

That was three guys who could lean on the other guys, and maybe a fourth. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Jack was clearly living the high life, with his fucking jersey flying off the shelves and the Falconers scheduling a special fancy Pride night with tickets jacked up into the ceiling on behalf of the Trevor Project. (Kent had looked at the fine print and they didn't get much of a cut, not that that was a huge surprise. You could never be too cynical with the NHL.) That could be the Aces. It could be something good. 

Maybe.

He talked with his sisters some, though they were both busy with their own shit, Marisa with her kid, Emily with college. "You're getting good grades, right?"

"Yeah, Kenny," she said, and Kent could hear her rolling her eyes. "It's your money, right?"

"You gotta spend it wisely." She was mostly on merit scholarships, but he sent her money for books and food, and told her to treat herself once in a while. He could afford it. "You get your education so you can take care of me when all the concussions and shit start catching up with me."

"That's not funny, Kenny," she said, sharp.

"Yeah, well, just keep working hard. You want to come out and visit before classes start again?"

"No time, bro, my great connections got me a sweet internship at Ochsner."

They both knew she'd earned all that on her own, but he played along. "Oh yeah. You better not waste that shit, I've got a reputation to uphold." 

"You sure do," she said. "Besides, all those blowjobs you traded gotta be good for something."

"Oh, I see, you're doing comedy now."

"Medicine is for chumps, stand-up's where the real money's at."

He always felt better after he talked to Emily. She kept him humble. Marisa was great, but she was much more stressed, and her problems weren't usually the kind he could throw money at to solve. No amount of cash would make her ex less useless or unsupportive, or stop him from playing the kind of head games that weren't enough to call CPS but half the time had his baby niece crying after a visit.

 _We sure know how to pick the right guys, huh?_ she had said once, after one rough night.

 _I think I'm getting better,_ Kent had said, and she'd asked if Kent had something to tell her, but he didn't, not really. He'd just had a good night with a near-stranger, who he still talked to once in a while. It wasn't stressful or heartbreaking or crazy intense, and he liked that. It was just two guys reaching out to each other, friendly, nothing serious. Kent didn't need serious.

But it made him think that maybe someday something serious could be possible. It made him see things differently. He hadn't seen things differently for a long fucking time. 

_The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results._ It was about time he stopped that shit.

Having Kimmie around meant he had an excuse to follow the skating season, anyway. After they'd shared a rink with a crew of figure skaters, Kimmie had gotten more open about his fanboy admiration. The guys chirped him, but he let it roll off his back. Being one of the bigger guys on the team didn't hurt. Kent would ask genially about Otabek, and since he and Leo from Team USA hung out, Kent could mostly file what they talked about under patriotism.

"Kenny," he said, in early September. "You, come watch Skate America with me. You cheer on Leo and I will cheer for Otabek." He didn't like traveling alone, Kent knew, and Kent didn't really blame him. If Immigration pulled some bullshit when he was with Kent, Kent would at least be able to call the front office and get lawyers on it. "I can pay for the ticket if you want."

"I think I can cover a Skate America ticket. Where is it this year?"

"Lake Placid. Near your family?"

"Not that close, but I might be able to get my sister to come out, if you promise to behave." Kimmie wasn't the most successful ladies' man on the team, but he came pretty fucking close. Girls called him 'exotic' and tried to figure out what his accent was, and he played along.

"I always behave, Kenny."

Kent rolled his eyes, but he asked Marisa anyway. _Sure, it's about time you got interested in REAL skating._

He didn't deign to answer that, but he did ask her if Laurel had any favorite skaters.

_She likes Yuri Plisetsky best, but he's not assigned to Skate America this year. Probably Otabek Altin's second best at the moment, because they're friends, and he'll be there. She likes Sara Crispino from Spain, too, but if you only come out for a day you'll miss Ladies'._

_I don't think we can spare more time than that. I can cover the ticket and hotel for you, though._

_I understand, don't worry. Thanks for offering to pay._

_You make the drive out, it's the least I can do._

Even sparing a day for the men's free skate was pushing it, but it wasn't impossible, and Kent convinced Hammie in the front office that cheering on their future Olympic teammates would be good PR. She pulled some strings and got them a chartered flight back so they could save time.

They flew out on business class, Kimmie snoring in the seat beside him for most of the flight, though he did take a break to join the mile high club with the pretty stewardess who recognized him from the team. 

"You did not say I had to behave on the flight out," he said, when he slid back in next to Kent, and Kent stifled a laugh with the back of his hand.

Kent was worried that Laurel wouldn't really remember him—Skype calls didn't really count—but she came running when he and Kimmie got out of their gate. He scooped her up in his arms. "Kimmie, meet my favorite niece," he said, spinning her so she could face Kimmie. "My only niece, but who's counting?"

"She is a very pretty young lady," Kimmie said. "It is very nice to meet you. My name is Aynur, but you can call me Kimmie like Kent does, if you want."

"Hockey names are dumb," she said, pushing away from Kent so she could stand on her own feet. "I like Aynur."

He grinned at her. "I like Aynur too. It means 'moonlight,' very nice, yes?"

"I like that."

"Kenny says you like Otabek Altin? He is Kazakh, like I am."

"He's cool," she said.

"Come on, you two can talk skating while we walk out to the car," Marisa said, and stuck her hand out toward Kimmie. "Marisa. Nice to meet you."

He shook. "The pleasure is mine."

Marisa had bought Laurel a pair of identical teddy bears, the kind they threw out on the ice for Altin, so she could throw one to him and keep one for herself. "I've put a leopard print bow around his neck," she said, as they drove toward their hotel. "That way if he has that one in the kiss n' cry, I'll know it's from me."

"I can't believe they actually call it the kiss n' cry," Kent groaned.

"It's what people do there," his sister said. "They kiss, they cry, they cry some more..."

"Who do you like, Kenny?"

"Hm?" Kent asked his niece.

"What skaters do you like?"

"Oh." Well. "I met a couple of them, so I guess they're the ones I like. Leo de la Iglesia, he's American, so I've got to cheer for him, right? I met Christophe Giocametti in Vegas, too. And Kimmie's a big fan of Altin, so I have to like him. So those three."

"What's he like?" Marisa asked.

"Which one?"

"The Swiss one. Giocametti. He always seems like...a lot."

Kent laughed. "Yeah, a little bit. He's a lot less theatrical off the ice, I guess I'd say. He wears glasses, can you believe it? They get nearsighted even worse than we do, because we have gear on. Figure skaters, it's just them and the glare."

"Makes sense. So he's okay?"

"Yeah, he's a good guy. They all were, once we figured out ice time. Leo's friendly with Otabek, I guess, so Kimmie would've knocked some heads if we didn't all get along."

"I am a man of peace," Kimmie said, fake-affronted.

"That's right," Laurel said. "Aynur's super peaceful."

Kent knew for a fact that Laurel watched half his games and had seen Kimmie flat-out punch guys who got in his way, but Aynur liked Otabek Altin and Otabek Altin was friends with Yuri Plisetsky, so Laurel would back up even his most outlandish claims.

He kind of liked it. Reminded him of when he was a kid and wouldn't let anybody talk shit about Bad Bob Zimmerman. (Christ, if that didn't seem like a long time ago.) 

They had enough time to dump their stuff at the hotel, and then it was off to the venue. Marisa's insane driving skills got them into a parking spot no car should've been able to squeeze into, and while Kimmie was clearly Laurel's new favorite, she allowed Kent to put her on his shoulders as they came in.

They'd watched the short programs on the flight over. Chris had been in first place after that, but Kimmie had insisted that Altin's free skate would take him over the top when the final scores were tallied. "What about Leo?" Kent asked, in a faint attempt at patriotism.

Kimmie shook his head. "Beautiful skater, but needs a consistent quad. Scoring system is still too jump-heavy. Good for Otabek, hard on your teammate." He had smiled. "But Otabek would still win gold, anyway. This is his season. I can feel it."

They'd gotten good seats, and Laurel was carrying a small menagerie of stuffed toys to throw on the ice after the skates, though the bear with the leopard print bow had a place of honor at the top of the pile. There were little girls and boys who skated around to clean up the ice after each program, which was honestly kind of adorable. Leo, Chris and Otabek will all in the same warmup group, the last one, which meant they could catch up and gossip a little while the earlier groups went—as long as they didn't talk loudly enough to distract Laurel, who watched every performance like it was contending for Olympic gold. Kent realized he'd watched more skating than he'd been telling himself by the way he recognized jumps without having Kimmie or a little graphic in the corner of the screen explain what they were. He still wasn't as engrossed as Kimmie, who watched a little hunched over his knees, or Laurel, who was starry-eyed, jumping in her seat a little with every jump and wincing with every stumble. Marisa caught him looking at her after one program and mouthed _thank you._  


Kent just winked at her.  


Tim Dang had stumbled in his short program, but he was clearly an up-and-comer, and he pulled it together for the free. Laurel waved her little US flag and yelled, "Good job!" Christ, he loved her. He'd have to try to fly out and see her in the off-season. She was growing up too fast.  


He wanted to grab Kimmie for a run between warmup groups—they'd sat too long on the fucking plane—but there wasn't enough time. Instead, he listened to Kimmie and Laurel debate how the next group of skaters would do. They were both clearly in the tank for Altin, but Laurel thought Dang had recovered well enough for the top six, and Kimmie thought one of the Canadian skaters would make the jump up.  


"Who've you got money on?" Marisa asked.  


"No money," Kent said. "But I'm gonna stick with Team USA for gold. Leo's pretty cool."  


"He's cute. And I liked his short a lot." The short had been energetic and bright, to a Mexican pop song Kent hadn't heard before, and Leo's personality shone through. "I'm glad he's not a dick."  


"Nah," Kent said. "I'm sure there are some dicks out there, but the guys we met were all right."  
Chris was skating around the edge of the rink, the kind of motion that looked effortless and lazy to people who didn't know how fucking hard it was just to stay upright some days. He jumped, spun in the air. Christ, it was like magic.  


He looked good. His hair was gelled in place, his chin stubble trimmed, his pants tight as hell. Kent already knew what his free skate was, but he found himself actually excited to see it live. Hell, he wanted to see Otabek and Leo skate too. It was a good excuse to get out of his own head and away from hockey for a little while.  


Leo was first. He was wearing a simple black-and-white outfit, with little spangles that created a pattern over the shoulder and on to his waist. The music was classical, something warm and slow. Kent didn't think he'd heard it before, but he liked it, and Leo's skating fit it perfectly, lyrical and contemplative. He didn't have any quads, Kent remembered, so it all needed to be technically perfect.  


Kent was no judge, but it sure as fuck _looked_ perfect. Leo looked happy when the music stopped, too.  


Laurel, screaming, winged one of the rainbow teddy bears out onto the ice, which was as big a seal of approval as Kent figured someone could get. Kimmie clapped Kent on the back. "Very good," he said. "Very, very good."  


A new personal record good, and enough to put him at the top of the pack to start. He probably wouldn't hold on, but he still seemed thrilled, and Kent was happy for him. Altin was next up, and Laurel and Kimmie were both practically vibrating by the time they hit center ice. But fuck, they were right to be excited.  


Leo had had to be flawless, and he had been; but Altin was flawless, too, and he had quads. He was a little broader than the other skaters. It was clear he never skipped arm day. He tended toward formal stuff that nodded at his heritage, but this free skate outfit was a little less brocade and a little more form-fitting. It was sky blue on top, fading to white, which made the choice of "Blue Skies" kind of cheesy, but Altin seemed sincere enough to pull it off. And shit, he was. He was fucking dazzling. Even Kent was going to have to admit to Kimmie who the better skater was this time around.  


Laurel actually whistled. Kimmie helped her throw the designated stuffed animal onto the ice, his broad arm giving her a boost. It landed only a couple of feet short of Altin's boot.  


"Shit, I didn't know you had that in you," Kent teased.  


"I threw shotput in summers," Kimmie said. "Three-season athlete."  


Kent had played baseball until middle school, when hockey started taking over everything. "Good for you," he said, and meant it.  


Next was a Canadian skater neither of them knew well, who was fine, but not very exciting. He wasn't connecting with the audience the way Leo and Altin had, and he had a couple of shaky landings. Maybe Laurel had been right about Tim Dang having a shot.  


Laurel didn't bother wasting a stuffed animal on the Canadian guy, and Kent felt a little bad for him. Couldn't even win the heart of a middle schooler.  
There was one more American skater left, Pete Reynolds, who had outperformed expectations in the short and was holding on to sixth place for dear life. Kent could see how nervous he was when he went out on the ice. Laurel screamed encouragement, and then fell obediently silent when he got into his starting position.  


He started strong, with a quad-double combination that looked effortless. But the next jump, a triple axel, had him stumbling, touching the ice one-handed to stop his fall. He stayed upright, but he lost points, and there was no regaining his confidence. Kent guessed most of his remaining jumps were downgraded, though he regained some confidence with a step sequence halfway through, and his remaining elements were clean. He finished strong, earning a red-white-and-blue teddy from Laurel for his trouble.  


The Russian skater, no one Chris knew, was a disaster so embarrassing that Kent could hardly watch. He wasn't at the same rink as Yuri Plilsetsky, so Laurel didn't bother wasting a stuffed animal on him, either. She was tough.  


Chris was next. Laurel handed Kent a tiny Swiss flag to wave. "Thanks," he said. "Why am I getting this again?"  


"Aynur has to cheer for Kazakhstan," she said. "And we're cheering for the Americans because we live here. So you have to cheer for Chris."  
Kent gave the Canadians a brief, sympathetic thought, and waved his flag.  


Chris looked pretty good. His costume was swirled with green and gold, and it reminded Kent of spring. Kent had seen the free skate before, but it was different seeing it live. "Good posture," Kimmie said, "almost as good as Russians and Kazakh skaters."  


He was taller than most of the other singles skaters, and that good posture accentuated his height.  


He'd changed up his free skate from his usual; Victor Nikiforov, the guy he'd met Chris drinking over back in Vegas, had choreographed it. He'd said something about wanting to encourage Chris to stretch himself and surprise his audience in the interviews Chris had caught. Victor Nikiforov seemed big on surprises. Still, it was fun to see a different routine from Chris. It was still sexy and still kind of campy, but it was more about telling a story beyond 'isn't sex great?'  


Chris made sex look pretty great, anyway. He smiled, he flirted with the audience, he moved his body like he did in bed. The routine started out raw, with a pounding rock song Kent didn't recognize, then turned romantic. It didn't feel jarring, at least not the way Chris did it. The commentators had said some bullshit about how the routine was about maturity, and Kent wasn't so sure about that, but he liked it, anyway. He liked watching Kent move.  


The crowd was screaming by the end, on their feet, and Kent didn't think the scores would be enough to put him on top but the performance was more than enough to get the fans on his side. Laurel grabbed the Swiss flag from Chris's hand so she could wave it, though Kent noticed he still hadn't earned a plushie.  


With the scores in, he was on the podium by half a point. Kent got up and cheered. Why the fuck not?

Kent had skated at Lake Placid enough times, and plenty of people recognized their faces from the big show, so getting to hang out rinkside after the performances had finished wasn't too much trouble. Kimmie had already texted Altin anyway, so at least one skater would be looking out for them.  


Kimmie started making small talk with Altin's coach, a French woman whose name Kent hadn't bothered to remember. The medalists would be out last anyway, probably, though all of them had to wade through their share of interviews. They talked hockey with some of the reporters who were still hanging around, and a few kids from the rink wanted autographs.  


By that point, a few more skaters were out of the locker room. "Fans?" Leo asked, then recalculated when he recognized who the girls were with. "Oh, hey."

"My sister and niece," Kent said, by way of explanation. "I hope you guys don't mind—"

"No, of course not. Nice to see you guys again." He looked down at Laurel. "I'm Leo, what's your name?"

"I'm Laurel Parson," she said, and stuck out her hand. "I really like your skating."

"Well, thank you. You're cheering Team USA?"

She nodded. "But I like Russia and Kazakhstan, too."

Kent put a hand on her shoulder. "She's a big fan of the Russian...Ice Cat."

Leo barked a laugh. "Yuri Plisetsky? He's okay. Otabek knows him a lot better."

"Ice tiger," Larissa said. "He's so cool. Do you think Otabek will come out soon?"

Leo nodded. "His costume's more of a pain to deal with but he won't be long. We're starving. You wanna grab something to eat with us?"

"Oh," Marisa said. "I don't think we could—"

Laurel was almost vibrating with excitement.

"No, it's fine," Leo said. "Laurel, you like music?"

She nodded.

"See, that's great, because a lot of times everyone just wants to talk about skating, but Beks and I like to talk about music. Do you play anything?"

"I play trumpet," she said. "In the band."

Leo was either genuinely pleased, or a great actor. Kent appreciated it either way. "That's really cool! I drummed in school, before I got too busy. Otabek's aunt plays violin in an orchestra in Kazakhstan, and he DJs. We can see if Chris wants to come out with us too, and Jonas. Pete normally doesn't; he kind of needs to decompress after the free, and Tim's family's here. And the girls skate tomorrow, of course." He looked up at Kimmie. "We met in Vegas, right?"

"Aynur Kim, from Kazakhstan."

"Otabek's going to be excited to see you," Leo said. "And I don't know your name yet—"

"Marisa," she said. "Also Parson. This jerk's my baby brother."

"This _charming, talented NHL player_ is your younger brother," he corrected. "The one who got you back here so your daughter could get another step closer to the Ice Tiger of Russia."

"Like I said," Marisa said. "This jerk."

They made some more small talk; Leo was clearly good with kids, and he and Kimmie kept Larisa engaged.

Chris was the next man out of the locker room, his hair shower-damp, contacts still in. "Fans?" he asked. 

"Team USA," Leo said. "And Kazakhstan, too, sorry, Aynur."

Aynur waved it off. "Will not make Olympics this year anyway."

"Hey," Kent said, to get Chris's attention. "'Sup."

Chris reacted for only a second, surprise, pleasure, and then smoothed his face over. "Nice to see you both again. Just the two of you, or are we entertaining the whole team?"

"You'll have to settle for us," Kent said genially. "Kimmie needed a chaperone."

 _"Go fuck yourself,"_ Kimmie said in bright Russian, happily waving at Otabek, who'd just appeared.

Otabek waved back. Shit, he was pretty hot. Kent was pretty sure Kimmie was straight, but Otabek might be in the exception category. Probably just patriotism, but Kent filed it for future chirping. Or blackmail.

Chris was still looking at him, friendly. Mostly friendly. "He's a cute kid," he said.

"Which one?" Kent asked.

He sighed dramatically. "I'm the old man in this crowd now," he said. "I probably should retire, but I don't want to yet. Not when I can keep winning."

"Oh, that's what we're doing now?" Leo said.

"I was only two points behind you," Chris said. "And beside you on the podium. Did you forget?"

Leo waved him off. "So are we eating? I'm starving."

"We're all starving," Kimmie said. "Anyone know somewhere good?"

"The real trick is trying to meet all the diet plans," Marisa said. "Half of you are trying to keep calories on, the other is trying to take them off, and Laurel's allergic to peanuts. But she and I did some research, and I've got some ideas."

"Your sister is very smart," Kimmie observed. Marisa grinned, flattered.

Kent shot him a _you were warned_ look, and Kimmie just played innocent. 

Kimmie wasn't wrong, though. Marisa was damn smart. She picked a perfect restaurant—a Vietnamese place with a deep menu—and they ordered a shitton of stuff, lots of vegetables, carbs, absolutely no peanuts. Leo and Chris talked a lot, while Otabek mostly listened, but Kent noticed that he really was listening; when he said something, he meant it. When the meal was over, both Chris and Otabek tried to pay, but Kent and Kimmie wouldn't let them get away with it. "You ate nothing," Kent said. "It's like you're a bunch of birds."

"Birds eat their own body weight every day," Laurel said, matter-of-factly. 

"Okay, a bunch of tiny birds."

Chris chuckled. "I see NHL players are known for their way with words."

"You guys are a bunch of comedians. See if I buy you guys mango sticky rice if you keep this up. I'll just get it for Laurel, because she's the only one I can trust."

Laurel grinned at him. She had the Parson smug down, all right.

When they got back to the hotel, Kent walked Laurel and Marisa up to her room; Kimmie and Otabek were going swimming with some of the other skaters, but it was past Laurel's bedtime, and Kent wanted to at least make a stab at being a responsible uncle.

He read Laurel a bedtime story, kissed her forehead, and hung out on the couch of the suite with his sister after she'd shut the door and turned out the light. "This reminds me of what it used to be like, hanging out at the rink," she said. "I used to like to watch the boys going by."

"Me too," he said.

"Yeah, I only found that out later," she said. She curled up her feet behind her. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"I worry," she said. "I guess I shouldn't, but it's hard not to. And I don't like...you shouldn't have to be alone."

"I've been thinking about coming out, actually," he said.

"Oh?" He appreciated the way she kept her voice carefully neutral. "Because of Jack?"

"Part of it," he said. "I mean, some guys have been dicks, but the world hasn't ended. I think it's been harder on the Bittle kid, you want to know the truth. And I wouldn't. You know. Drag a college kid out of the closet with me."

"I can see you're not still bitter," she said, picking up a beer.

"Yeah, I earned that."

"You were nicer than I would've been." She picked up the bottle opener. "I know he was going through a lot of stuff. But you're my baby brother. And he hurt you."

"We were kids. We said stupid shit. I hurt him, too."

"I know," she said. "And I don't care about his feelings, because he's got other people who care about him. I just have to worry about you."

"I'm fine. But...I don't know. I've got a ring now. I don't have to prove myself." He sighed. "I'm not stupid. I know they'll cut me sooner. But nobody plays hockey forever, and I'm good enough they're not gonna cut me any time soon. So. You know. I'm thinking about it."

"How much does that figure skater make you think about it?"

Shit, he knew she'd been paying attention. "You know, we ran into each other right after—after Jack came out. And. I don't know. It was nice to have somebody who didn't give a fuck about hockey. We could just bullshit and talk about cats and shit. It doesn't mean I want—I don't know. He just. It was good. And maybe I could...I don't know. Have something good. Not have to pretend. We're friends, that's all. But it made me think that maybe I don't want to do this my whole career."

"That sounds pretty good to me," she said. "But you're right it's a risk." She grinned. "At least you're good in interviews."

"Zimms does the best he can," Kent said. "He just really, really sucks at it. They should've given him a script."

"Cue cards." She took a drink of her beer. "But you know I'm on your side. No matter what you do. Including that figure skater."

"He has a name."

"I bet you know it real well..."

"What if it _was_ him? Seriously."

"You're my brother. I love you. If you got back with _Zimmerman_ I'd support you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"But don't get back with Zimmerman."

"No," he said, and laughed. "That's not happening."

"Sooo," she said, into her beer. "Christophe Giocametti."

"Yeah," he said. "We've just—we've talked back and forth, I guess. Since he was in Vegas that time. That's when I found out what a figure skating fan Kimmie was."

"And you like him."

"Yeah. I do." It felt like a lot, admitting it. But it was about fucking time he started admitting what he wanted, at least to his own damn sister. She'd been the person he came out to, the person he talked to about Jack, but that'd only been after...

After.

She deserved to hear something about him that wasn't a total disaster for once.

"He seemed nice," she said. "Seriously, he did. I'm just busting your balls. I'd say the whole thing about him being Swiss is probably the bigger problem. If you come out."

"If I come out." It felt good, getting it out. It made things feel more real. Like maybe there really would be someone he could come home to someday. Like he might not have to lie for the rest of his life. "I don't know, maybe the Swiss hockey program needs a champion."

"You look good in red."

"I look really damn good in red."

She laughed. "Laurel would lose her shit if you ran off to Switzerland with a figure skater."

"I'd send her plane tickets."

"Autographed pictures of Yuri Plisetsky."

"Fly her out for European competitions." It wasn't...shit. It wouldn't be a bad life, if that was the life he had. Eventually. Maybe ten years out. He'd never been sure if he'd wanted to stay in hockey after he stopped playing. Wasn't sure what else he'd want to do, either. "Five years ago, I thought I'd just play hockey forever. And that was enough. And it's enough for now. But what happens if I tear my ACL and they tell me they can't repair it? What happens if I'm hurt bad enough that I'm drinking out of a tube? There's nobody crying any tears for me or trying to deal with the nurses and the hospital and—shit. It's selfish, right? Wanting somebody to—"

"Kenny," she said. "Don't—you're not selfish. You're...it's not easy, doing shit on your own."

"You've got a kid, that's different."

She took his hand and squeezed it, like Mom used to do. "It's still okay to not want to be alone."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

"You deserve to have someone," she said. "Your ex is out there covered in rainbow flags. He can't even do a decent interview! You'd be on the cover of GQ by now."

She really was the best sister. "I'll lose sponsors, I figure, but I'll get some back. But I don't know. It's still...a lot. Changing my whole life, all over again. And I still don't know how the front office would take it."

"They've got no right—"

"I signed a contract," Kent said. "Maybe they have the right, maybe they don't, but either way, they can trade me whenever they want to."

She finished off her beer. "They won't. You're too good."

"There's a fuckton of athletes as good as me who got buried in one place or another because they didn't follow the company line. I've gotta be careful."

She didn't really have an answer to that one, but Kent didn't either.

As he came out of Marisa's room, he got a text. _Can't sleep. Want to help my performance anxiety?_ He went straight to his room, something hot and electric running just under his skin. Kimmie was watching skating videos on his bed. "In for the night?" 

"Think so," he said. "Altin is tired from the free, needs rest."

"You're gonna behave, right?" Kent asked him. "I don't want to have to enforce your curfew or whatever."

"I'll be in bed on time," he said. "I won't wait up for you, no?"

"I—"

Kimmie grinned. "He is nice. You have fun."

 _It's not like that,_ Kent almost said, but it was. But he didn't want anyone to keep his secrets, either. "You don't have to—"

"Is fine, Kenny. You do not have to ask me permission."

"It's not that," Kent said. "I don't like asking people to cover for me."

"Nothing to cover for," he said. "We make friends here, we have good time. That is all. Nothing to hide. You are good teammate, Kenny. I like you."

"Thanks," Kent said, which wasn't enough, but Kimmie knew what he meant, he was pretty sure. "I'm really glad we came."

"Me too."

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to get away from the family," Chris said. He was still dressed, contacts still in. Kent wondered if he'd been thinking about going out.

"Laurel crashes early," he said. "And it's much easier if we have separate hotel rooms. Learned that a long time ago." He leaned in, found Chris's ear. "Don't tell her I said so, but my sister snores."

"Oh, I see," he said. "Well. Come on in."

"I don't have to—"

"No," he said. "I'm glad you're here. It's nice to see you." He pecked Kent on the cheek as he came by. "I definitely wasn't expecting to have some NHL fans stopping by to watch us skate."

"Dad sent me a text, they saw us on CBC. It's a good thing I can blame it all on Kazakh pride."

"I like him," Chris said. "And it's nice for Otabek. The international scene isn't exactly crawling with Kazakh skaters. There's a girl coming up in Juniors, but she's pretty young yet."

"I still don't really understand how it works. There's just...no one else who competes?"

"Not at his level," Chris said, sitting on the mattress. "Regional competitions, yeah. But it's not easy. Every country handles it differently. The US gives their skaters a lot of support, once you get to the national level. Kazakhstan can't really afford to. You're paying all your bills, you're filling out your registration forms. It's a hell of a lot of work, and you have to have some money behind you to pay for lessons just to get started." He smiled. "Sorry. Not very good pillow talk."

"No," he said. "It's interesting. I'm interested." He sat down on the mattress next to Chris. "What about you? How'd you start skating?"

"My parents footed the bills for a while, too. But I did well in Juniors. I actually did a few clinics here when I was a kid, thanks to my sponsors. That's how I started getting better at English, too. I mean, I wasn't _bad_ at English. But I'm better now, _oui?"_ He slid a hand onto Kent's thigh. 

_"Oui,"_ he said. _"Tres bien."_

"And where did you pick up all your French, _mon ami?"_

"Oh," Kent said. "That was the Q. When I was a kid my best friend played hockey, and I begged and begged Dad to let me play. Tim's parents gave me rides back and forth from practice, and I just—had a knack for it, I guess. And Tim moved away, and I kept skating, and I went to the Q, and that was as much French as I could handle and then some. That's how I met Jack Zimmerman. And shit. We were friends and then, I don't know. We'd stolen some beers, and we crossed the line. And it was good for a while, you know?" He dropped onto the bed, letting the mattress hit his back. "Shit. I've just beat you to shittiest pillow talk."

"It's all right," Chris said, and dropped onto the mattress next to him. _"But your French is very good, darling."_

_"It's a bit—ah. Rusty."_

_"I'm very happy to help you practice, if you'd like."_ He stroked Kent's face, soft, sweet. _"How are you liking the skating?_

 _"It's interesting."_ Shit, he had the vocabulary of a third-grader again. He was probably getting the genders of shit wrong. They always used to pick on him about that. _"Very pretty."_

 _"Oh, yes."_ Chris turned his face and pressed his lips to Kent's cheek. _"Tell me how pretty I am."_

"Tu es tres jolie? Should it be vous? I don't know how close we are."

"Neither do I," he said. "You can stick with _tu._ I think I like that." He kissed Kent's cheek again, and then started working down his jawline. That was good. Really good. "Do you want me to call you pretty? Handsome?" Another kiss. "Sexy?"

"Tell me the truth," Kent said, and put a hand on Chris's hip, just above where his sweatpants began. "Tell me what you actually think."

"I think you're all of those things," he said. "I love your eyes. You must get endorsement contracts, with eyes like that. More than just blades and equipment."

"Yeah," he said. "Gatorade's my big one. Old Spice, maybe. My agent's made a counteroffer."

"I should have let you buy those drinks in Las Vegas."

"I'll buy you drinks this time," he said, and hooked a leg over Chris's, to pull him closer. "We can get room service, if you want. If they have it here."

"I know what I want," Chris said. "It's already here."

Shit, what a fucking _line._ Kent snorted, but Chris was already kissing him again, and he was thinner now, down to lines of muscle, the better to jump across the fucking ice. Chris grabbed his ass, squeezed, moaned down deep in his throat. That was more like it. They started pulling at each other's clothes, stripping each other down, Chris kissing Kent's skin as it was exposed, even the fucking dogtags. He bit hard at Kent's shoulder, and Kent squirmed, but Chris just pulled him closer. "No, no," he said. "You don't have a costume you have to worry about."

"I still have the locker room—"

"Tell them you met a beautiful Swiss woman who couldn't get enough of you," he said. "She tried to eat you alive, but you escaped with your life and a couple of hickeys."

"I don't..." Shit. He didn't do that stuff. They'd chirp him to shit. "Just try not to leave marks? Please?"

Chris kissed the spot he'd bitten. "No marks," he said. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Kent said, and stroked his hair. "Just—careful. Please."

"I'm going to take very, very good care of you, darling." His hands took Kent's boxers and started pulling them down. "Is this what a normal day looks like for you? Jeans, t-shirt, Baggy underwear?"

"They're comfortable," he protested, though he sure as fuck wanted them off now. "It's better than a thread up your ass crack."

"Nothing to bunch," Chris said, and kissed his left hipbone. "I want to lick every inch of you."

"It's all here," Kent said. "Lick what you want to lick."

Chris didn't say anything. He just got to work. Fuck, he was still good with his mouth. Of course he was, it wasn't like people got _bad_ at that shit—

"Can I eat you out again?"

"Yeah, shit, yeah."

He pulled Kent's leg over his shoulders and licked his balls, his crack, and _fuck_ that felt phenomenal. Why the hell hadn't he held out for more guys who ate ass? Why the fuck hadn't he held out for more guys who were like Chris Giacometti?

Chris bit his cheek, not hard, but enough to make Kent squirm in his hands. "Fuck," Chris said, sounding kind of impressed. "Can't say I didn't miss this ass."

"I'm in peak condition now," he said. "You had me at the beginning of the off-season last time."

"Mm," Chris said, and stroked a thumb across Kent's crack. "I wasn't complaining last time, darling." His mouth was hot and wet. "Tell me what you want, _oui?"_

"Just keep doing what you're doing, fuck—"

His tongue followed his thumb again, and Chris held Kent's hips in place to keep him from moving too much. His tongue dipped in, stroking against his asshole, and Kent wanted more. "Shit, get something in there, I'm fucking dying."

"Just hang on," Chris said. "I'll get you where you need to be."

Where Kent needed to be was _fucked,_ but he didn't know how to beg in French and he wasn't having much luck in English, either. He closed his eyes and let Chris do what he wanted to, which was lick everything he could get his mouth on, tease Kent's asshole with his tongue and fingers, and then pull back until Kent was ready to scream with frustration...then start the whole fucking thing all over again. Kent was desperate by the time Chris pulled back, got up on his knees. "You ready?"

"Fuck me," Kent said. _"Fuck me,_ Jesus, please—"

Chris reached over and grabbed the condom, slid it on, fiddled with the lube. His hands weren't as steady as they had been, and Kent felt kind of good about that. "You want to ride me?"

"Yeah," Kent said. "But...start like this."

That was another thing he liked about Chris; how fast he caught on. "Yeah," he said, and he was betraying a little eagerness now too, wasn't he? "Let's do that. Put your legs back up."

Kent balanced them on Chris's shoulders once the condom was on and let Chris slide in, slow and easy. Shit, he was a good size. Shit, Kent really needed to get out more, because it felt like it'd been ten fucking years since he'd gotten fucked, and this was exactly what he needed.

Chris changed angles, kept moving, his hands keeping Kent steady. Fuck, fuck, he was so close—

Kent tilted his hips, and _there,_ that was it, and he gritted his teeth together so he wouldn't get them kicked out of the fucking hotel. Fuck, he could go for getting fucked like this more often. "Harder," he said, because he always wanted to push his fucking luck. 

"Oh," Chris said. "You think you're up for it?"

Kent grinned. "Give me what you've got."

Chris did, thrusting hard and fast, and Kent didn't regret it, but he did have to hang on to the mattress and hope for the goddamn best. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, Chris pulled Kent into his arms and turned them both, together, pulling Kent on top of him, and Kent, his athlete's pride at stake, caught his breath enough to keep going, riding him faster, watching as Chris's head snapped back and his eyelashes fluttered shut. "Damn," he panted, and Kent grinned and rocked forward again.

Chris looked good like this, his eyes wild, panting up at Kent. Kent knew he looked damn good, too. For a second, he thought of the _Best you ever had_ in his phone. _Best you ever had too, Giacometti._

Chris came with a grunt, his hips snapping up, and Kent's hand scrambled to his own cock to finish himself off. He came on Chris's stomach, and that looked damn good too.

"Merci," Chris said, and Kent just shook his head.

"We should do this again sometime," Kent said, when he came back to bed. 

"You can stay for a while?"

"Yeah." Kent kissed his cheek. "This is nice. I'm glad I got to see you skate in person."

Chris slid an arm around his waist. "Catch it while you can."

"You retiring?"

"I'll have to retire at some point," Chris said. "I'm not jumping the way I used to already. It's just a question of whether or not I do it on my own terms or I let my body decide for me."

"So you're thinking about doing it?"

"A little," he said. "This season's going all right, but I'm having more and more trouble with my Achilles tendon. It's not going to last forever. Nothing does."

"I guess it doesn't," he said. He had to be careful; he was going to fall asleep if he wasn't. "I'm thinking about coming out," he said, and Chris was quiet for a while.

"This new?"

"I don't know," Kent said. "I mean, coming out now? Yeah. But I've thought about it. If I'd washed out with the Aces. Thought maybe I'd go to college or something. But I'm good at this. I love it. I didn't want to risk it. So I figured maybe after I retired. Maybe I wouldn't come out at all, you know? Just live my life. Somebody figures out I've shacked up with a guy, I do some bullshit about not believing in labels, it's fine. I didn't want to think about it, so I didn't think about it." Chris smelled good. Shit. What the fuck was he wearing? It wasn't Old Spice, for sure. Kent burrowed in further.

Chris kissed the top of his head. "And now you're thinking about it."

"Yeah. Some of it's Zimms, but some of it is—shit. I don't know. Retirement seems like a long fucking away now. We compete a lot longer than skaters do. And I don't know how long I want to wait."

Chris's hand stroked his back. 

"And I like this," he said, and fuck, it shouldn't feel so risky to say he liked a guy. "I don't know if I can wait twenty years to even have it on the table."

Chris kissed him, hard, and shit, that was good. Kent kissed back, rolled on top of him, straddled him. "You like that?" Chris said, his hands sinking down to Kent's ass.

"Yeah," he said, rocking into him. "I really fucking do."

Chris was getting a little breathless. "Good." His hands squeezed Kent's ass. "I do too."

"I can't—I didn't say that to try to promise anything, or any shit like that. I don't want to lie to you."

"You're not," he said. "We—I get it. I dated an ice dancer for a while. It's not easy, even when you're both in the same sport. And you've got to make the choice for yourself. We both know that."

"Yeah," he said. "Exactly. Shit." He dropped his forehead to Chris's. "This is good, though. Really good."

"Do you have curfew, when you're out like this?"

Kent smiled, close to Chris's stubble. "Technically? I definitely can't stay the night. Kimmie said he wouldn't wait up, though."

"Good man."

"He's great. Killer right hook, too."

Chris laughed, and Kent felt it in his chest. "Our careers are very different."

"Yeah, but I've still got a great ass." He wiggled a little in Chris's grip.

"You have the second best ass I've ever had."

"Second best?!"

"The best eyes." He kissed his mouth. "And the nicest mouth."

"Yeah, I get that a lot, but usually it's from guys who think it's intimidating rather than flattering."

"You're in the wrong business," Chris said. 

"You're not complaining right now."

"No." He paused, and something went dark in his face. "Kent," he said. "I do like you. I like doing this. I like being friends. I'm not asking for anything more than that, and I don't think you are, either. But I'm close to retiring. And I have to make some choices about the future. And I'm not going to be anyone's secret."

"I wouldn't expect you to. Anyone. If I want to get serious with someone, I can't expect them to hide for me. And I wouldn't want to hide it." It was one of the reasons he hadn't dated anyone seriously, or even really tried to, since he made it to the NHL, aside from a few pointless attempts at getting Jack back. Too many eyes, too many photos, too much at stake. Maybe if he'd met someone he clicked with who was in the closet too, but he never really had. It'd been easier not to bother. Hockey took enough of his life. He couldn't quite understand how the guys with wives and kids managed to keep it up; he felt guilty sometimes just for leaving Kit as often as he did.

"Shit," Chris said. "Can you move? I'm overdue to take out my contacts." 

"Yeah," Kent said, and shifted off him. He probably should tell him goodnight and get the fuck out of his room. He slid into the sheets next to Chris instead, watched while he got up and pulled out his little plastic case and the weird bottles people with contacts had. He'd never understood contact lenses.

He thought about what it would be like to learn someone else's habits. Work around him. Know when they were coming home, be the person they were coming home to. The kind of dreams he'd had years ago, back when he was a kid, only more real now for knowing the sweat and the exhaustion of a pro career, knowing how much work it was just to connect with people. Knowing how lonely you could feel when you woke up at 2 am and didn't have anyone you could text.

He didn't stay that late; Otabek wasn't the only one who had to skate the next day, and they had to fly back, and sneaking around a figure skater's bedroom at night was risky enough as it was. Chris kissed him goodnight, more sweet than sexy. "Thanks again," he said. "It's always nice to have a new fan."

"You better start learning hockey," Kent fake-threatened.

Chris said "maybe," in a way that felt pretty good. 

Kimmie made him watch the exhibitions on the plane back to Vegas.

Leo's skate was as easy-going and light as Leo had been, to Dolly Parton's "Here You Come Again." He wore a costume that looked a little like a Nudie suit, with even more sequins than Kent remembered from watching old Dolly concerts with his grandma Phillips. 

"He's very good," Kimmie said. "Old scoring system, he would be gold, all the time. Still does all right now, but—" He shook his head. "I sound like my grandma."

"Mine would be all about the Dolly, so don't feel bad about that."

One of the women was next, and she was a good skater, but her program was kind of dull, classical music and a conservative outfit. Kent ended up dozing on Kimmie's shoulder until Altin came up. In the close-up you could see glitter on his cheeks and how long his eyelashes were. Kimmie was almost shaking with pride.

Kent had been proud to be on Team USA, but it was nothing like what Kimmie felt, and how could it be? He'd grown up in a fucked-up country, sure, but a country that had been independent for two hundred years and counting. It wasn't like having parents and grandparents who remembered the day their country came into existence. Wasn't like having to be part of sports programs that had all but built themselves up from scratch. Kimmie had grown up knowing Kazakh and Russian and a little English and German. Kent had thought he was hot shit when he learned a handful of French. 

"He has taken a long time to, eh—loosen up," Kimmie said. "He'd always skated classical programs, very formal. But he said he wanted to have some fun with this year."

He was wearing a leather jacket with studs, what looked like acid-washed jeans. His ass looked really good. Skaters, Christ.

The music started. Oh, shit, Queen. Underneath the jacket, which came off almost instantly, he had a white tank top like Freddie's. It was loose and silly, and he still jumped like he was born to do it. Shit, they made it look easy.

The audience ate it up, probably because he was breaking his image as much for it being fun and sexy, but it _was_ pretty fun and sexy, and a definite step up from the snoozefests that Kent had tuned out. And Kimmie was goddamn thrilled; Kent wondered if he did this every time Altin medaled. Probably. 

Kimmie didn't even speak until Altin was skating off the ice. "Very good, yes?"

"That was fun."

"I think the American girl is next, the one who won silver. We should watch her too. They'll put Christophe near the end." All the analysts had said his performance had been a miracle to pull off at his age, which was fucked-up when he was basically Kent's age and his closest competitors were a bunch of kids, but there was figure skating for you. 

Kent resigned himself to his fate, but she was good too; a more traditional, classic program, but she had charisma and energy. Kimmie was watching her with special interest.

"I think she has a boyfriend," Kent said.

"I am watching fellow skating professional," Kimmie lied. Kent elbowed him affectionately.

There were two Canadian ice dancers next, and while Kent wasn't much for formal dance, it was hard to top their footwork, even in an exhibition. And then Chris was on, ridiculous, oversexed, in a ruffled pirate costume. "The fuck is he skating to?"

Kimmie chuckled. "Just wait and see, Kenny."

It was the love theme from _The Darkwater Pirates,_ because of fucking course it was. Chris played it big and broad and fun, less sexy than his competition skates. The crowd ate that shit up, too. Chris had his share of endorsement deals, too, Kent remembered, and when he was skating it was obvious why. No one had had to coach him through an interview for a long damn time, either, and wasn't that a change from the last time—

He was thinking about Zimms a lot less, but it wasn't over yet, now was it? 

Maybe he wasn't ready for any of this. Coming out. Having someone serious in his life, as an adult, not just as a dumb-ass kid who thought he could have whatever he wanted. It wasn't going to be as easy as just making an announcement. Shit. Like that was 'easy.'

"I like this one," Kimmie said. "It's a lot more fun than last year's."

He'd seen last year's, which was a Swan Lake homage. It'd been pretty enough, but Kimmie was right. This was more fun. "Yeah," he said.

Kimmie shot him a grin. "You've seen it, huh?"

Kent shrugged his shoulders. "Your enthusiasm is contagious, Kimmie."

"Oh, my enthusiasm, huh? Is that what happened last night?" He stopped, like he realized what he'd just said. "I mean—"

"It's okay," Kent said.

"I wouldn't—I won't say anything like that—"

"It's cool," Kent said. "Thanks, though. It means a lot to me."

"I—that's not the way I would be, even if you weren't my friend. And...we are friends, yes?"

"Yeah," he said.

Kimmie sat back and smiled. "Las Vegas was very hard, at first. You and Swoops, you helped a lot. I'll have your back, whenever you need me to. And I won't—"

"It's kind of nice," he said. "To have somebody I can, I don't know, be honest with. My sisters know, my dad, but—"

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah, they're...they're good. They've got my back, too. But Marisa hasn't even told Laurel, because she's afraid a rumor will get back or some shit. It's not like I have a burning need for my niece to know who I'm fucking. It's just that I want to be honest with her. Shit, I'm not even sure I should be saying this shit on a plane."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I could have it a lot worse," he said. "I'm in my own country. I'm playing for the fucking NHL. I could retire tomorrow and be okay. It just gets to me, sometimes."

"I get that," he said. "Remember, I was dating Rose? I couldn't even go get coffee with her without worrying."

Kent nodded. "Yeah. I remember in the Q—" Shit. A lot of stuff had happened in the Q. "We were just kids and it was...fucking constant. Who were we hanging out with, was it going to 'distract' us. I swore I'd never, ever date until I retired." But that had been almost ten years ago. 

"You actually hold to that?"

Well, fuck, Kimmie didn't have to call him out like that. "Mostly? There was...somebody special, back then. And when that ended I kind of chased after him for a while. Wasted the best years of my life."

"Nah," Kimmie said. "We've got a lot more to go. Going to win the Cup this year. Maybe you get the Body Issue."

"Ha, ha." Maybe he had a point, though. He did look pretty good. And fuck, they were going to win the Cup, if they had to punch their way through the fucking Falconers to do it. "Okay, I'm gonna try to sleep for a while—"

Kimmie waved at him. "Don't wait on me, I take a while to wind down. Get some rest."

Kent turned off the light and grabbed his little pillow. He would probably be better off with a sleep mask, but they always itched. Back in the Q, he and Zimms would split a pill and some stolen Jack. He'd stopped doing that after the Q. 

He closed his eyes and thought about being back in bed with Chris, Chris's arm around his waist, stubble against his shoulder. Once he got his headphones settled, it was enough to get him to sleep.

After that, it was back to the grind for a while, not much time to stop or think. They were on a hot streak, playoffs right around the corner, and they'd never worked together better on the ice. It felt like they were going to make it again, go all the way. It was a good season. Strong start, strong middle. They could finish strong too, Kent felt it.

It wouldn't be a bad season to—

Fuck, he'd tied himself in circles long enough. He was leading the league in scoring, again. He could do this. 

He called Todd first, when they were in Montreal. Maybe it had been all the French that made him finally move. "I want to come out," he said.

"What?"

Shit, it was like five am. "I'm—I'm sorry. I woke you up."

"No, I was up. Daphne decided that sleep was for the weak about a half hour ago, and I've been trying to get her back down ever since. Little grateful for the distraction, honestly, but—out?"

"Yeah," Kent said.

"So...you're coming out to me?"

"Yeah. I'm gay. And—once the season's over. We...we need a plan. I'm not kissing anybody on fucking center ice." 

"And believe me, I'm grateful for that," Todd said. "But...yeah. A plan. You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure." It felt weird, saying it. He probably hadn't said "I'm gay" out loud since he came out to his sister. Mostly he talked around it and let people paint in the picture, when it came up at all. He was going to have to say it out loud when he came out, though. Probably often.

"Okay. Thanks—thanks for trusting me, Parson. I'll put something together, the next couple of days. We can talk about where and how you want to go forward with it. Lydia told me she's got a couple players who are testing the waters. It won't just be the two of you."

"It—that part doesn't matter. I'm doing it for me."

"I get that," Todd said. "When do you want to talk to the rest of the team?"

"Shit, I don't know. Closer to the end of the season, but I don't think we should wait the whole season out, especially if we go all the way. Hoping you guys won't want me out on my ass when I do it."

"No team will send you out on your ass with the numbers you've been putting up," Todd said. "But thanks. Thanks for coming to me first. I'll start reaching out. Carefully."

"Okay." Kent wasn't stupid. Things would start leaking out, eventually. But he was used to rumors. He'd lived through a decade of fucking rumors. 

It was about time for him to just live his life.

He kept telling himself that not much would change, that Kimmie was probably right about the team—even the assholes would be on his side because they'd want to keep winning—that his family was still there and loved him. But it didn't feel like that. It felt like an earthquake was coming, and he was the only one who knew it.

Shit, he'd have to tell his family too. They'd get called. Fucking everyone would get called.

Chris had hooked back up with his ex the month before, but he was still texting, still in Kent's phone as _the best you ever had._ The 'friends' part of 'friends with benefits' was holding up, so far. _It's worth it, right? Being out?_

It was hours before Chris answered back. He was probably traveling, like all of them did, all the time. _I never regretted it. But you have to make the call._

Kent knew that. Still, it was nice to hear someone say they didn't regret it. And fuck, Zimms still had a job. Kent was as good a player as him, maybe better. The Aces wanted to win, and Kent had gotten them there. Not alone, sure, but—he still had a decade ahead of him, at least. He'd have to duck more cheap shots, but he'd had to duck cheap shots for years. He'd lose endorsements, but he was ready for that. Worst case scenario, he'd saved his money and he still had his looks. Someone would want him as a coach or a mentor or to shill cologne. They'd always take him back home, too. 

This wasn't the end. Even if it was the end of the Aces, or the fucking NHL, it wouldn't be the end.

When Todd's email came, it seemed like he didn't think it would be the end either. _We'll have some video ready to go. You have any teammates who you want to tap other than Duck and Gizmo?_

Oh, right, the You Can Play ambassadors. _Swoops, probably. Kimmie. As long as it's safe for him, I don't know what it's like in Kazakhstan._

_Me either. We'll figure it out.Don't forget to have your agent get in touch with me._

Oh shit, he needed to tell his agent too. Hopefully she wouldn't shit a brick.

She didn't, but she sounded a little nervous. "You're sure?" she asked.

'Yeah. And I already told Todd anyway."

"Todd's buried stories before," she said, grimly. "Don't kid yourself, Parson. I can start reaching out to your endorsements, but that's practically guaranteeing it'll leak before you're ready. My advice is to get everything in place with the Aces, and then do it just before Cup Day, whoever gets it. Then you've got another big story to eclipse it."

"I'm not ashamed," he said.

"No," she said. "But this is going to be big, and you're not going to enjoy it. They're going to ask a lot of questions."

"They'll ask about Zimms."

"Probably," she said. "I don't know if there's anything to tell them, or anything you want to tell them, if there is. But they're going to ask. I can reach out through my agent, if you want."

"Maybe," Kent said. He didn't have to decide that one right away. "We'll figure that out."

"Okay. I'll put some things together, send you an email. And I'll talk to Todd."

"Thanks, Shannon. I appreciate it."

"You're not the first athlete I've had in the closet, Kent. You're just one of the very few who've decided to come out while you were still playing. If I can help keep you on top, I'll do it." She hesitated. "Shit, I'd be taking money out of my own pocket if I didn't."

She had a point there. "Well, let's try to keep you rich."

"Sounds good to me."

_I'm doing it,_ he told Chris. _It's gonna be a while, still. I have to tell the team, and I want to get through the playoffs before I go public. But I'm doing it._

_Are you going to think it's silly if I say I'm proud of you?_

Kent looked at the phone. Fuck. He'd expected Chris to say a lot of things, but not that.

 _No,_ he answered. _Go ahead._

_I'm proud of you, Kent Parson. Now kick ass the rest of this season._

_Don't worry,_ he said, grinning at the phone. _I'll show you my new ring the next time I see you. You bring your gold medal from Worlds.  
Throw in a new picture of Kit, and that's a deal._

 _Okay._ Kit was looking cute anyway, so he took a picture of her curled up on top of Kent’s jersey and sent it with _Thanks again.  
_

_What are friends for, right?_

_Yeah,_ Kent said.


End file.
